Back at NewCastle

[Degorram]

I hope you'll put up with my randimosity. I need to get something out or the emotions building up will surely tear me apart.

 

~

 

Fallen looked down at her feet as she stepped over the familiar gravel. The painfully angular stones pressed into the soles of her leather boots, making the muscles in her feet tense for fear of becoming unbalanced. Her black skirts swished about her ankles. She breathed deep the cool morning air, feeling her ribs strain against her black bodace. The soft blue cloth of her shirt brushed tenderly over her arms, which she raised above her head as she felt the joy of the sunshine fill her to the fullest. A score of jingling beads, pins, jewelry, and other odd bangles added an aura of perpetual noise about her as she practically danced down the street towards her beloved Newcastle.

 

It had been far too long since she had been home.

 

Pushing past one of the wall's small gates, Fallen stepped out into the open air. Before her were the rolling hills of the expansive town, varying between lush grass, clinging red dirt, and the mixtured woodiness under the trees. The wide roads were framed on all sides by beamed shops and gardens, and here and there an impressive stone work could be seen towering above the quaint little buildings, its multicolored flags whipping in the brisk morning breeze. The trees rustled at her as she capered down the roads, reveling in the false silence that shouted with noise: the wind, the birds, the stock animals up the hill, the shop keepers preparing for a new day, and of course her own jingling. The joy at the familiar smell of it all made Fallen shiver as she turned all about, taking in sights new and old. Though there were new faces in her town, Fallen fondly noticed that not a thing had changed.

 

Realizing this, she leapt down another branch in the road, heading for the center of the town: the pub. It was no Dragons Head nor Prancing Pony, but was only known as the Pub. It needed no name, for it certainly was not a place that stood on such ceremony. But despite this, no other building had ever known such stories, such fun, and ah....such music! Fallen practically laughed aloud at the thought that these features were not usually what a pub was known for, and though the contents of the little nook had often made her blush with discomfort, she had always been able to laugh it off and come back knowing that the embrace of her friends would welcome her.

 

It was these friends that she so longingly looked for. Though she had been away for a long time, surely they would recognise her! She was Fallen after all....truly unforgetable, or so she had been told by others. Specific mention had been drawn upon her blue-grey-green eyes, which had been spoken of by many as stunning. Her smile also. There seemed to be something about her smile that seemed to captivate and enthrall. Fallen herself believed her grin to be goofy and overbearing, but apparently it inspired some joy in others, so she kept on smiling.

 

Before crossing the road to enter the pub, she darted into a fur shop and located a mirror. Staring at her reflection she contemplated the changes that had taken. Her hair, a rich brown, fell a bit farther. It still held the same curly-wave that seemed to cascade like a waterfall down her back. Her skin was still ivory white with barely any freckles, and the mouth that sat in the middle of her face was full and small. Until she grinned of course. She flashed her teeth at the mirror, grimacing inwardly at the expansive expression. Tweaking her slightly dented nose, she turned away to leave the shop.

 

Suddenly she was overwhelmed by it all and fell back, leaning against the cool pelt of an alpaca that hung against the wall. She rested one of her hands against her stomach, trembling all over. Would they even remember her? Would they be happy to see her? Had she been better off gone? The doubts, though completely silly and unwaranted (and she knew this), darted through her mind in a whirl of fear.

 

"If yeh'r lookin' for someun special, lass," a voice from behind the counter said, "ye'd best not beh worryin'. Yeh look beauty to meh."

 

Fallen looked up and noticed the man, leaning against his counter and smiling softly at her. She knew him, but not well, and she smiled at him just as softly. "I thank ye," she replied before heading out into the sunshine again.

 

A few more paces and she would be back into the depths of her old haunt. The open-faced pub was framed by several sets of steep steps and a railing or two, and this was all that protected the many tables and benches from the whethers. A caucophany of music assailed her ears. As usual, the performers and minstrels of the town were preparing for another day of hailing. A drum and the distinct sound of a fiddle crested the crescendo and Fallen's grin stretched to its limits. So those two were still here. Just as she had hoped. She climbed the stairs, peeking around a beam at the din that was bursting from the pub.

 

There were many minstrels, all playing a tune together. There was a pipe, a flute, a djimbe, a couple guitars, and of course the fiddle and the drum. Fallen had to place a hand over her mouth to contain her joy as she watched her lads play.

 

The two were similarly dressed. Both wore high black boots, a tartan kilt of the color teal, and simple, white poets blouse. The one with the fiddle had teal patches on his thin shoulders, a head and tail above the others. The one with the drum had donned a short black vest that hung open, its little drawstrings swaying back and forth.

 

Though constantly moving with the beat of the music, the drummer's face seemed impassive through it all. His concentration slammed into the drum's top with closed fist and open palm, consuming his thoughts. Wavy golden locks fell to the back of his neck, framing his handsome face in sunlight. Occasionally he would look up at his fellow players, but not long after he would slip back into the reverie of the music.

 

His friend the fiddler, however, seemed to be bursting with life. Perhaps that was why his frame had grown so abundantly tall and stretched: all up and no out. He practically danced around the pub floor as he jerked his bow across the violin's strings, his long, silky brown hair flying out behind him and clinging to his shoulders. Always he connected eyes with the other minstrels about him, always there was an open mouthed smile attached to his beautiful face.

 

Watching them play made Fallen's heart flutter painfully. She dared not climb the rest of the steps, but leaned against the beam and watched them, filled with happiness.

 

The song ended and the players laughed, bowing to each other. The fiddler walked over to his friend, clapping him on the shoulder, engaging him in some cheery talk that the drummer obligingly returned. They spoke a moment more before they gathered their instruments and turned towards the entrance.

 

Fallen backed away from the door and tried to stifle her laughter as the lads walked past her, oblivious. They had only gone a few steps before the giggles burst from her mouth.

 

The two stopped dead, lifting their heads to listen. "I know that laugh," the tall fiddler said, his high tenor voice ringing in Fallen's ears like a song in itself. The two turned and their eyes connected with Fallen. The drummer's disbelief dropped his jaw and the fiddler's face split into an enormous grin of joy.

 

"You!" the drummer cried, dropping his drum and leaping forward to close the girl in his embrace. He had to bend down to hug her, but neither of them minded and Fallen's peals of laughter echoed through the street.

 

"Tom! It's so good to see you!" She squeezed his shoulders extra hard before letting go, looking the man full in the face. "In looking back, I should never have left."

 

"I'll say so!" the fiddler said, stepping forward to also hug her. Bending almost in half to reach her, he hugged her hard and stayed there many long moments. "Where have you been lass?"

 

"Out and about, String. Out and about." At last let go, Fallen backed up a pace and looked up into their faces, almost crying with joy. "It's so good to see you both. I've missed you so much. It's hard to explain just how much. What has happened to NewCastle in my absence?"

 

"Not much," Tom said. "Really."

 

"Really?" Fallen asked. She took the time to look about her at the sunny little town. "I'm very glad," she whispered.

 

"But don't ask us about boring old NewCastle," String said, picking up his instruments and throwing an arm around Fallen's shoulders. "Do tell us about your travels abroad!"

 

"I love traveling," Tom said, taking Fallen's other side.

 

Fallen laughed as they strode down the gravel road, towards the far end of the faire where the lads held their stage. They chattered animatedly. And the sun continued to shine.

 

Fallen was back at NewCastle.

[Degorram]

The trio traded stories and laughs as they continued down the street, Fallen's short stature framed by the stare-bringing tallness of her handsome companions. She waved to people she recognised, her smile fixed to her face. She knew her cheeks would soon begin to feel the strain of such happiness, but her heart surely couldn't express her joy quite like her face. So she bared her teeth proudly, beaming.

 

They approached the simple, bench surrounded stage. It was a simple building with a planked outstretch for the performers to stand on. The entrance to the building was covered by a split cloth of two colors, teal and black: the official garb of the minstrels with which she spoke. A tree grew through an opening in the middle of the stage, providing some shade.

 

"Oy!" Tom shouted. Immidiately two faces poked themselves from back stage, expressions curious. "WHAAAAT?" one of them shouted roguishly, his scottish drawl hanging on the air.

 

"Lookee what we have," Tom said, squeezing Fallen's shoulders. Fallen smiled and waved at the other two performers. "Hello lads."

 

The two walked out to meet her, smiling. They wore the same teal kilts that String and Tom wore. The roguish one pressed forward, grabbing Fallen's hand. Beneath the short brown hair that covered his mouth he bared a sly grin. "M'lady! Tis been eh long time!"

 

"It's good to see you so well Angus," Fallen said just as slyly. Though she was not as well acquainted with the rogue of the group, she knew his game well enough to play it. "Been keeping yourself busy, I expect?"

 

The man grinned again and winked. "Oh aye." The other man gently pushed Angus out of the way, a princely air of dignity never leaving his dark face. He too wore a short beard about his mouth, which twisted into a charming smile. "It has been a long time," Aaron said, his deep, velvety voice making Fallen's skin tingle. "Where have you been?"

 

Fallen shrugged. "Here and there. I'd tell you all, but I expect you lads have places to be, songs to sing, hearts to capture."

 

Angus pulled a small watch on a chain from the sporran hanging from his belt. "Ah, we do!" he cried. He hurried back behind the curtain.

 

String pulled Fallen into a tight hug, resting his chin on top of her head. "We'll see you again soon. Meet us at the tea room at noon?"

 

Fallen squeezed him and looked up into his eyes when he let her go. "Certainly! I have some catching up to do anyway; I'll stalk you lads later on."

 

"Looking forward to it!" Angus' voice came from behind the curtain.

 

Fallen grinned at his playfulness and walked away, blowing a kiss at her friends as she went.